The energy died a little, but he still glared at them with the crackling eyes of a god.

  “There’s not a more powerful ghost in the world,” Chloe said, irritated on his behalf even as she hoped he’d calm down. “Even if the trap in Houston had succeeded, they’d have found they’d caught a lion in a rabbit snare.”

  His power dimmed to its normal background hum, and the striped nemes replaced the crown on his head, but she could still catch a glimpse of it from the corner of her eye as he gave her a satisfied nod.

  Fatma and Ali seemed sufficiently cowed, like fright had pushed their ever-present anger to a muted level. “I should have known better,” Fatma said quietly.

  Ramses nodded again.

  Chloe took a deep breath. “Do you have more questions, or should we get going? Because I’m betting that no matter what, you’re going to insist on coming with us?”

  “Of course,” Fatma said, but she seemed to almost smile as she gave Chloe an exasperated look. It wasn’t exactly a friendly smile, but Chloe wouldn’t be choosy.

  “And you said you had a faster than normal boat?”

  Ali nodded. “We have a piece of the golden fleece to help control the wind.”

  Chloe had to chuckle. David would be saying, “I told you so,” for years to come.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The trouble with Remora Island was that the dense foliage extended nearly to the water, impossible to see through. But a long speedboat had been anchored just offshore, along with what looked like a modified fishing boat that had seen better days. No one stirred aboard them, not that Helen could see through her binoculars as she bobbed in the water with four nereids.

  Ligeia swum in lazy circles around her, clad in nothing but her skin, and the sun glinted off her blue scales and golden tattoos. “See anything?”

  “No.” And it was getting toward afternoon. Helen didn’t want to go stumbling through enemy territory at dusk. “Maurice, do you feel any glamour?”

  His weight shifted on top of her head. He’d flown from the sanctuary instead of swimming, perching on Helen now and again as the nereids brought her up for air. They could swim nearly as fast as he could fly, so they’d made good time, though Helen could feel the parts of her not covered by her short-sleeved wet suit starting to prune.

  “Nope,” he said. “Not from this distance, anyway.”

  Shit. They’d have to get closer. They swam down the shore from the boats and came in near some rocks and a steep ledge rather than the beach. Ligeia, Maurice, and Maera clambered up with Helen while the rest stayed in the waves, kicking out a bit, readying a whale song in case they spotted anyone.

  It was hot and muggy inside the trees, and every inch was alive with bird and insect calls. Helen waved for Maera to stay near the shore and relay any signal if necessary. She could leap in the water with the landing party and pull them away faster than anyone could follow, but she’d dry out on land for any length of time.

  Inside the trees, Maurice settled on Helen’s shoulder, muttering under his breath as he extended his glamour around her and Ligeia, rendering them invisible for a short time, at least to outside eyes. Taking them under his magic took a lot out of him, and he wouldn’t be able to do much more than concentrate, but this way, they could move quickly and not have to worry about anyone spotting them.

  Helen scoffed. The Sphinx shouldn’t have worried.; they moved like a well-oiled spying machine.

  Helen headed in the direction of the boats and spotted several little trails. Someone had broken through the foliage. She followed the clearest, her ears straining. Voices and a low electrical hum made her slow. She drew the kladenet before creeping ahead. Through a break in the bushes, she spotted something beige, metal.

  A small clearing past the broken bushes looked ragged, the plants still oozing sap as if someone had hacked them from existence no more than a few days ago. Three portable buildings stood under the hot sun, one draped in ivy as if it had been there much longer. Two generators hummed outside the newer buildings, and a larger trail snaked through the trees on the other side of the clearing.

  Helen bit her lip. Why would they make two trails? Why not walk along the one that had clearly been carved for the buildings? It screamed suspicious if not trap.

  Loud voices came from one of the newer buildings, along with the faint sounds of music: TV noise rather than conversation. Damn. She’d been hoping to find someone talking, discover a little more than the obvious fact that someone was here.

  Would the Sphinx kill her if she went closer? If she peeked in the windows?

  “How much glamour do you have left?” she asked softly.

  “Maybe an hour.” But the strain in Maurice’s voice said it was a little less.

  If she was going to do something, it had to be now. “Come on.” She strode toward the nearest building, the oldest, and paused beside a window, finding it too covered in dirt to see through. She hurried toward one of the newer ones. The curtains hung open in the center, so she rose on tiptoe to peek inside.

  Boxes and crates filled one side of the room, leaving only enough space for a ratty old armchair. Someone sat in it, their face hidden behind a graphic novel held in two pale hands. They wore cargo pants and thick-soled boots and had a pistol strapped to one thigh. A longer rifle leaned against the crate beside them, and they had their feet propped on a box. At least this one wasn’t worried about intruders. Or much of anything.

  Were the boxes full of more weapons like the rifle? None had markings or labels, and she dearly wanted to get a closer look. She sneaked to the other building. The glare of a TV bounced off the blinds. Perhaps it was as sparsely guarded as the other one.

  She led the way back into the trees. “Drop the glamour.”

  With a sigh, Maurice did so, though he remained invisible, his natural magic always in place unless he chose to lower it.

  “Well, boss?” Ligeia asked.

  “I don’t sense any magic, do you?”

  “Gimmie a minute to catch my breath,” Maurice muttered.

  Ligeia shrugged but sensing spells or glamour had never been one of her talents.

  “Nothing,” Maurice said. After a beat, he added, “But then again, some of these fey-human glamours…”

  “Yeah.” Like the dealer’s glamour that he’d missed at the poker game. That had put them in a pickle, even though no one there had an automatic rifle. “But if they have human blood at all, Ligeia’s song should work.”

  “Should? That’s, like, some nice confidence, boss.”

  Helen gave her a flat look. “Think you can get through the walls and the sound of that TV?”

  Ligeia snapped her gum and returned the dark glance. “I’ve gotten through all the decks on a cruise ship, baby.”

  Excellent. “Show me.”

  Ligeia rolled her eyes but turned toward the clearing and started to sing. Loudly. Helen winced from the noise but waited for all the doors to come popping open.

  * * *

  The Kareems weren’t lying about having a fast boat. The wind shear was so great, Chloe felt like her face was going to slough off, so she finally went inside the bridge with the others. Luckily, Ali and Fatma had made some modifications to the yacht so their piece of the golden fleece wouldn’t tear the boat to pieces either.

  The fleece had been draped over the console, as shiny gold as lamé, though the texture was a bit lumpy, and it felt scratchy and cold to the touch. Definitely not sweater ready. Tiny bronze clips held it in place, and wires led from those into the console itself. It seemed a fascinating mix of magic and technology. Chloe would have loved the chance to study it, but Ali stood over it with a wary eye and didn’t seem in the mood for conversation.

  When the boat made it out of the Gulf of Mexico in what seemed like an hour, maybe a little less, David gave Jillian and Chloe’s mom a very smug look but was kind enough to say nothing.

  The first island on their map proved a bust, and traipsing around it felt like wasting time, but Damian wasn’t sure about the quality of the air or the ley lines being exactly as he remembered and needed to get a “feel for the whole place.”

  By the tenth mosquito bite, Chloe could have banished him on the spot.

  At the second island, he didn’t even get off the boat, saying this air definitely wasn’t right. Chloe’s mom and the others seemed skeptical, but she was more than willing to take his word for it, leaving it to the others to take a short look around while she stayed safely in the air-conditioning.

  By the time they were on their way to the third island, her nerves returned. If this one was in wild-goose territory, too, this whole trip had been a fuckup. And it had been her idea. Of course, the alternative wasn’t exactly pleasant: finding the people behind the traps and getting pulled into a big ol’ fight.

  Chloe moved below into the yacht, taking a seat at the four-person table built into the wall while her mother, David, and Jillian looked through their equipment. Fatma and Damian had stayed up on the bridge with Ali. Chloe hadn’t told them he was a demon, but she was certain they suspected he wasn’t human. She had her pentacle ready to go in case he decided to prove them right.

  Ramses sat beside her, turned as if to keep an eye on the stairs. He seemed worried, too, his leg bouncing up and down, fingers nervously playing with the edges of his pleated kilt as he kept casting glances at the piles of equipment.

  “Nervous about the window dressing?” she asked at last, speaking low and hoping the others wouldn’t hear. “You’re twitching like a wet cat.”

  He didn’t bark back at her, a bad sign. “Now that I’ve said it aloud, I don’t like how much they seem to be relying on all that…stuff.” His mouth twitched as if he’d rather have said, “garbage.”

  She shrugged. “It’s what we’ve got.” She’d almost said it was what they had, those without the godly gifts, but she wasn’t ready to let go of all her paranormal trappings yet.

  “No, the real power we have is you and me.” He waved vaguely. “Not to brag.”

  Though he totally was. “And if we get into a bind, we might have to rely on everyone else and their junk.”

  He shook his head, his leg bouncing harder. “I shouldn’t have told you. It’s just made me nervous, too.”

  Her nerves went to a hundred, but she tried to laugh it off. “Come on, I’m just teasing.” A bit. Some. Barely any at all. “You don’t usually get nervous before a fight. Is it more than just the supplies?” She frowned. “Please don’t give me some speech about dying.”

  “I’m not going to.”

  “Or reminding me that you love me—”

  “I do, but that’s not it.”

  She sighed. “Let’s have it, then.”

  He shook his head. “All my instincts say something isn’t right, but I don’t know what.” When he looked up, his smile was kindly. “But there’s nothing we can do except keep moving forward.”

  Very inspirational. If he’d made that speech in front of his army, they would’ve gone home. But she wanted him to feel better as much as she wanted to feel better, too. “Well, we’ve got the helmet now, so strength won’t be a problem.”

  “Right. Of course.” His reassuring smile had all the weight of a feather punching bag.

  Chloe felt wooden as she glanced at her mom, David, and Jillian and all the gear they took so much care of, all the stuff that might let them down now that her mom didn’t have any power. Had she even tried going after any ghosts or monsters since she’d lost it? Not without Chloe. What if they got separated? If her mom charged in without her?

  “I’m sorry, Chloe,” Ramses said again. “I shouldn’t have—”

  Man, she was tired of hearing that. “It’s done, Ramses, and it wasn’t like you lied. I know my belief isn’t actually going to change whether or not iron or salt or turning my clothes inside out actually affects the creatures we come up against. And you and Mom were right in that they do help me focus. We’re good.” For the millionth time, it would have felt so good to be able to touch him. “Solid. Always.”

  He nodded proudly. “Use all the focuses you want. Our enemy may have their own trinkets, but they don’t have our power.”

  Damn straight. No need to point out that they might have different powers all their own.

  She wandered back through the galley into a narrow hall, trying to walk away from her head for a bit, but as her grandpa had once said, it always came with her. She wished she could go pace the deck, but she didn’t feel like having to staple her face back on later.

  When she felt a hand on her back, she just kept from yelping, ready to growl at Ramses again for scaring her, but that warm touch couldn’t be his.

  Her mom’s scowl greeted her. “Where’s your head at, Chloe? Because it certainly doesn’t look like it’s in the game.”

  The game. Yeah, it really felt like that at the moment. “Blood of Isis, Mom, ever hear of it?”

  Her mother drew back as if shocked. “Ramses told you.”

  “Well, it sure as shit wasn’t you.”

  To her surprise, her mother leaned against the wall, her expression sad but serious. “What did he say?”

  “Oh, you know, the usual, descended from a god, special powers.” All the tools she’d ever relied on being mostly for show, but she couldn’t say that to her mom now, not when she wasn’t sure exactly what Ramses had told both of them, not right before they got in a fight.

  Her mom tsked. “I didn’t want you to rely too much on the bloodline. It’s the combination of blood and gear that’s the key, and your heritage is going to help you whether you use it or not. The rest takes finesse, practice.”

  Chloe held up a hand. “I remember.” God, she’d heard it all often enough. “He thought the god stuff might boost my confidence.” Even though her mom was saying almost the opposite. They couldn’t both be right, could they? “But that he told me feels like you wanted to leave me out again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Chloe waved around and wished she could gesture at the entire world. “You and Jamie. All of this. Me and Dad were always outside looking in.”

  Her mom went still. Fuck. She should not have mentioned her dad.

  “I did my best, Chloe.” Her voice was only a bit pissed, maybe even a little guilty. Maybe she knew she’d left Chloe out in the cold more than once.

  “I know.” But she did not need to talk her mom off the ledge when she also needed comfort.

  David poked his head into the hall. “We’re here.”

  Chloe nodded. All the things left unsaid would have to stay that way for now.

  * * *

  For a moment, all was as still as it had been, save for the sounds of the TV and Ligeia’s song. Helen could imagine any guards lounging inside sitting up as they heard something. They’d pause, not knowing what the noise was, and turn down the TV, and by the time they realized it was a voice singing, they’d be trapped by Ligeia’s power.

  The doors thumped open as if on cue, a guard clomping down the wooden steps from one building, and three filing from another to fall at Ligeia’s feet. They were all dressed similarly, though nothing in the nondescript, professional-looking clothing could be called a uniform, and with their varying skin tones, she wouldn’t have pegged them as all being from the same region. Mercenaries, perhaps.

  All information she’d figure out later. She hurried into the dark room with the crates, fumbling for a switch, but the overhead light was weak and yellow, and she could see why the mercenary who’d been reading in here hadn’t bothered with it. She turned so her body wasn’t blocking the light from the door and yanked the lid off a random crate.

  Bananas?

  “What the hell?” She pulled the lid off another, the nails keeping it shut barely slowing her down. Ceramic ducks wrapped in plastic. She opened several more to find bolts of cloth, toys, more bananas, jars of pickled radishes.

  Where were the guns? Or anything they could assault her island with? Were these simply smugglers, and there was more money in illicit fruit and ducks than she’d thought? She tried several boxes and crates on the bottom, but they seemed as full of nothing as the top. And Ligeia couldn’t keep singing forever. She already sounded a little hoarse.

  Helen hurried to the next building where she’d seen the TV, giving an apologetic look to Ligeia’s wide eyes and snapping fingers encouraging her to hurry. Nothing in there but clothes, some personal items, a few hammocks. There was a two-way radio, but nothing as useful as cell phones or passports. Those might be in the mercenaries’ pockets. She’d check after the final building.

  Its door was locked, a good sign. She’d been hoping to disappear without a trace after putting the mercenaries back at their posts, leaving them wondering what, if anything, had happened. Ah well. With the aid of her godhood, she snapped the flimsy doorknob off. They’d just have to live with not knowing who had forced this door.

  Nothing but shadows inside, more boxes perhaps, but the grimy windows didn’t let in enough light. No window AC units hummed in here, no generator outside. All was hot and still and dark, no breath of air save what trickled in from the open door at Helen’s back.

  Goose bumps sprang up on her arms even under the sweat. She took a few steps, needed to hurry and open whatever she could find, just to guarantee that this operation wasn’t a threat. And Ligeia’s voice had begun to waver now, ratcheting up Helen’s heart rate, but this room was setting off all her internal alarms.

  It seemed almost an inevitable relief when the door slammed shut behind her, cutting off the sound of Ligeia’s sudden scream.

  * * *

  No matter how much bug spray one packed for traipsing around islands in the Caribbean, it wasn’t enough. Every inch of Chloe itched, though how the mosquitoes had gotten through the heavy, camouflage flak jacket Jillian had insisted she wear, she didn’t know. Maybe they had a magic all their own on top of their ability to make everyone they encountered scratch off a few layers of skin.